


Nature Boy

by ubertrash



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1940s, Angst, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Canon Divergence - Captain America: The First Avenger, Canon Divergence - Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Captain America: The First Avenger, Established Relationship, F/M, Gay Bucky Barnes, Infidelity, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pining, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Top Steve Rogers, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-21 22:45:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15567999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ubertrash/pseuds/ubertrash
Summary: "He’s agonised over them for hours and hours, but there’s no easy way to explain that he loves both of them more than anything, it’s just that he’s got a better excuse to break Bucky’s heart."When no one dies, what happens after the war?





	Nature Boy

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a snippet from a story I’ll never write in it's entirety, so hopefully it makes sense on its own. Steve and Bucky have been in love practically since they met and have always been in some approximation of a relationship. Picture this: the war is over. Bucky still fell from the train (but he still has both arms) and Steve still crashed the plane (but they managed to save him). Bucky is MIA being tortured by HYDRA for a few months, presumed dead, but once he escapes he comes back to discover that Steve and Peggy have struck up a romance. Cue pining, jealousy and angst. Featuring heavy doses of period-typical homophobia (internalised and otherwise), identity crises and terrible coping mechanisms.

Bucky's not at his apartment, although that's no surprise; he's clearly not in the mood to be found, but that's tough shit because Steve's not going home until they've talked. His Ma didn't raise no quitter. Steve knows he's out there somewhere, raising hell or trying to drink himself to death, even though the alcohol will just make him tipsy and do nothing to drown his sorrows - believe Steve, he's tried. So he goes to all their local haunts, to all the restaurants and bars, even the run down ones, but in the wee hours of the morning, after a few hours of searching, he's close to drawing a blank. It's then that he remembers a place that he's only heard of through the grape vine, on account of all the colourful characters he's met through the years. It's a little bar downtown, aimed towards a specific clientele, discretely tucked away from prying eyes. Buck probably thinks it's a place he won't look, a place Steve wouldn't be caught dead in, so of course Buck would go there tonight of all nights, looking for a certain kind of trouble, and he's got to hand it to Bucky - it does take him a good few minutes to work up the nerve to go inside.  

The bar is dim, abuzz with people, swarming about the place. There’s a haze of smoke practically everywhere you look, rosy-coloured light illuminating the dark wood bar. It's nicer than Steve expected it to be. He spots Bucky over in the corner, at a table with a handful of other guys and smartly-dressed women. A gnawing feeling works it’s way into his chest as he notices one woman sat in another’s lap, arms curled around each other, laughing with shared breath, and he has to force his eyes away. Bucky’s smiling in that loose, liquid way that tells Steve he’s had more than a couple of drinks. He’s got his hair slicked back, nothing but a white vest and black slacks on him, and a glass of nearly finished liquor in his hand. The man sat next to him sneaks a hand around his waist, and the sight of it makes Steve uneasy. He scowls and leans his hip on the bar, waiting for Bucky to notice him, carefully avoiding the eyes of strangers.

Sure enough, after a few minutes, Bucky catches his eye. The dazzling smile fades from his face and his expression turns sour as he quietly excuses himself from the table and weaves his way to Steve’s side.

“Look what the cat dragged in.” he drawls, mirroring Steve as he props himself against the bar. He gives Steve a conceited smile. “Want me to buy you a drink?” he asks, mock flirtatious.

“No, thank you.” Steve says flatly. He shuffles closer, leaning in to Bucky and speaking lowly. He’s goddamn terrified of being recognised. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Yeah?” Bucky says. “Slow night at the office? No plans with Agent Carter?”

“Buck.” he says, a warning.

“No, really. Won’t she be getting worried? I think it’s past your bedtime, Stevie.” he taunts.

“We should talk.” he urges, practically whispering in Bucky’s ear.

“You wanna talk, Steve?” Bucky sneers, throwing back the last of his liquor. He slams the glass down hard and pushes himself away from the bar, arms spread wide. “Then lets talk.” There’s a look in his eyes that makes Steve think he wants to fight more than anything; in fact, he suspects talking is low on Bucky’s list of priorities tonight.

“Not here.” Steve says, glancing to the exit.

“Well why not, Steve? I say this is a great place for us to hash it out - “

Growing frustrated, he pushes on Bucky’s arm until he stumbles and lets Steve herd him to the doors.

“What’ve you got against this fine establishment?” Bucky slurs at him, as they wind through the maze of bodies in the bar. They’re both big enough to muscle most of them out of the way, and nobody even seems to notice the pushing and shoving.

They emerge into the cool night air, a harsh relief from the crowded bar. Steve feels like he can breathe again. As the door shuts behind them, the commotion inside is drowned out and they’re stood alone in the empty street under a thin veil of drizzle. Immediately, Bucky starts digging in his pockets for a smoke and lighter. The yellow street lights cast an olive sheen over his skin, shining with sweat, and a few unruly curls of hair dangle over his forehead. He must have been dancing. 

“The hell is this, Bucky?” Steve demands, and Bucky leans against the rain-slick wall, languishing and blowing smoke into the air. He looks at Steve with dark eyes from under his lashes.

“The hell is what?” he says, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Now, Steve’s usually a pretty calm person, especially under pressure, but it’s been a long goddamn day and right now Bucky’s doing all he can to push his buttons. Unfortunately, it’s working.

“This.” he insists, pointing at the ground. “You, goin’ out and gettin’ into trouble. I’m worried about you, Buck.”

“Worried about me?” he mimics, indignant. “That’s fucking rich coming from you, Steve.”

“Hell yes, I’m worried about you. What’re you doing at a place like this anyway?”

_A place like this_ , Bucky thinks, like a punch to the jaw, and he tries not to reel from it.

“I’m at a queer bar because I’m fucking queer, Steve, what the hell did you think?” He takes a violent drag from his cigarette and scuffs his shoes on the dirty ground. He doesn’t recall having ever said it out loud before, but he’s riled up and angry and he’ll do anything to get a rise out of Steve right now; he knows he hates hearing about it, hell, they both do.  Meanwhile, Steve just sort of stares at him, looking dumbfounded and appalled, and somehow that’s worse than being yelled at. He ignores the way it gnaws a hole in his stomach, and focuses on his giddy anger instead. He takes another drag and narrows his eyes, takes a few provocative steps towards Steve, practically snarls.

“You got a problem with that, Stevie?” he demands. When Steve doesn’t answer, just stares him down, he scoffs and turns away, heading off down the street. It’s no fun if Steve doesn’t fight back, it’s just pathetic, and he doesn’t need Steve’s help to throw a pity party.

“Bucky. Bucky!” Steve hisses. He makes a grab for his elbow, but he’s just out of reach, marching off with a drunken sway. “Buck, wait.”

Bucky turns to face him and keeps walking backwards, his smoke dangling precariously from his fingers. “I’m fucking queer, baby!” he taunts, and laughs. “You better get used to it.”

“Bucky, don’t be stupid.” Steve says, trotting along after him. “Don’t be so loud, it’s not safe.”

“Fuck you!” he jeers, and that does it. Steve seizes him by the shoulders and walks them both into an alley, out of sight. He slams Bucky into the wall, knocks the breath out of him, and gets a good hold on his biceps; his skin is hot to the touch, a flush spreading across his chest, and he braces against Steve but doesn’t try to get away, his pupils blown wide.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing, Rogers?”

“What do you want from me, Buck?” Steve hisses, “Because I don’t think this little temper tantrum is all out of the blue.”

“Fuck you.” Bucky spits, and fists his hands in Steve’s jacket.

“What, you just start acting out for no reason? I know this is about me, Buck, so what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to admit it!” he barks. “Want you to admit you ain’t so goddamn pure, that you’re a fucking pansy too.”

Steve scoffs and shakes his head, and it feels like a kick to the gut. “It ain’t that simple, Buck.” he mutters.

“Yeah, it ain’t. You can go home to your dame and pretend it’s all normal, but I don’t get to do that. What about me, Steve?” He wishes the words would come out more venomous, but there’s a bitter, desperate tone to his voice instead, and Steve doesn’t want to fight him anymore. He knows this is all his fault. 

“What do you want me to do?” he pleads.

“I want you to make a fucking decision!”

Steve surges forwards and kisses him, realises he’s been trying not to kiss him this whole goddamn time. The hands fisted in his jacket pull him close, and he presses Bucky into the wall, writhes against him, but then Bucky’s tearing his mouth away and shoving at Steve’s chest.

“Admit that you want me.” Bucky gasps.

“Of course I do, Buck, it ain’t no goddamn secret.” He tries to kiss him again, his gorgeous pink mouth, but the hands on his chest hold fast.

“Then why d’you keep choosing her?” Bucky asks, and it might be Steve’s imagination but his eyes look wet, boring into him like that.

He opens his mouth to reply but nothing worthwhile comes to mind. He’s agonised over them for hours and hours, but there’s no easy way to explain that he loves both of them more than anything, it’s just that he’s got a better excuse to break Bucky’s heart. It’s not right to keep them both, he knows, but he is greedy, his desire selfish, and it makes him delirious. He just can't let Bucky go. Maybe that does make him a bad person, so maybe he does deserve it when Bucky pushes him away and kicks at his shins, storming off again.

“Fuck you.” Bucky snarls, tugging at the brace that’s fallen off his shoulder, and even through the animosity Steve can’t help but think he looks so pretty, all messed up like that. He stumbles back towards the street and Steve marches after him.

“You’re a fucking coward, Steve Rogers.” Bucky shouts, and Steve has to fight down his urge to tell Bucky to be quiet, not because he’s worried he’ll wake the neighbours, but because he’s scared of people knowing who he is. Maybe Bucky’s right.

“It’s not my fault the law says I’m not allowed to love you.” he argues weakly.

Bucky meanders to a stop, turning to face him. “Exactly.” he says, with a vicious smug smile. He approaches Steve again and slams his hands against Steve’s chest, though it doesn’t budge him one bit. “So what the fuck are you gonna do about it?”

Half an hour later they’re back at Bucky’s apartment, and he lets Steve fuck him, face down and asking for it like the pillow-biter he is. He wants it so bad he drowns in it. Having Steve's hands on him is so familiar he could sob just from the relief, and he grasps at Steve’s head where he’s mouthing at his shoulder, all the sprawling silver scars there, one of Steve’s hands tugging at his hair. He is Tantalus, always desperate for love and pleasure, but no man can touch him like Steve does, no one else even comes close. It makes him wretched.

After, he sits up in bed, smoking, while Steve nestles down into the blankets. His lamp casts them in low, orange light.

“Always a sucker for you, Stevie.” he laments. It was foolish of him to think he could stop giving Steve what he wants, to think he could stop wanting it. His fast didn't even last a month, barely three weeks since he tasted him. He blows smoke into the air.

“That’s right.” Steve smirks. “But I’ve always been a sucker for you, too.”

“Not often enough.” he mumbles.

Steve’s mouth tightens into a straight line. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Bucky wishes he could just walk away from this fight, but he’s too melancholic tonight, angry with himself and willing to take a beating for it. It's been a long time coming. “Means you ain’t a sucker just for me, are you?”

“And you’re a loyal one, huh?” Steve retorts. Sometimes Bucky forgets that Steve learned to fight with his words long before he learned to fight with his fists, and they usually pack more of a punch. “You go to those clubs for a reason, Buck.”

“Only cause you’re not here.” he snaps. He hasn’t looked at Steve this whole time, shame coiling up inside him. When they didn’t lay eyes on each other for all those months, it was torture; he nearly went insane when those Hydra fucks caged him up and he thought he’d never see Steve’s face again, all the while Steve thought he was dead and he got on with his life just fine. It’s not fair. He hates the war and he hates the goddamn Nazis that did this to him, to them. His left arm shakes so he puts the smoke in his other hand, and he curses every one and every goddamn thing that ever got in between them, that kept them apart and made them forget what it was like to love each other.

“I should…Peggy might be worried about me.” Steve announces, and Bucky’s hand gives an involuntary twitch.

“If you walk out that door, Steve, I swear to God.” he warns, and out of the corner of his eye he sees him sink back into the pillows. Steve watches him finish his cigarette, and once his hands are free Steve reaches for him, circling his wrists and trying to pull him down onto the mattress. Bucky fights him perfunctorily, childish, sliding his body flat until he’s looking at Steve face to face, where he can smooth a hand over Bucky’s cheek, thumb tugging at his lip. He’s got the most handsome face Steve’s ever seen. The years have hardened his features and put circles under his eyes, made him more sharp, but his softer, boyish beauty is still there under the warm light. Laying there together feels womb-like, safe.

“I’ve loved you my whole life.” Steve confesses quietly. Bucky knocks his hand away, only to reach across and touch his own fingers over Steve’s jaw, down his neck.

“Yeah? Why don’t you start actin’ like it.”

It could be a question or a demand, but either way Steve has his reason. “People like us.” he says gravely, “They don’t get happy endings.”

He won’t look Bucky in the eye now, afraid he’ll start bawling just at the sight of him. He links their fingers together, feels the tremor in Bucky’s hand, and remembers all the times he thought he’d never get to touch him again, how he’d promised himself never to take Bucky for granted, even though that’s all he seems to do these days. He doesn’t deserve him.

“Says who?” Bucky asks, as if he doesn't already know the dismal answer.

Steve lets out a hollow laugh. “Everybody.”

“Since when do you listen to what other people say?” Bucky teases. “Barely listen to me most of the time.”

He tugs Bucky’s hand to his mouth and smiles against his skin. Just for a second he imagines a ring around his finger, one that Steve would give him; he’d only be able to wear it in private, for an audience of one. He imagines Peggy with a ring, one she could be proud of and would want the entire world to see. She’d show it to all their friends and they’d write about the engagement in the papers, their wedding would be big and beautiful and everyone would be there. They could shout their love from the rooftops. For him and Bucky, it would only ever be a whisper; right now in this room is as loud as their love can be. It will always be claustrophobic to love him, something so big trapped inside his chest forever.

“I’m scared.” he breathes, speaks it into Bucky’s hallowed bones where he knows it will be kept safe.

“You think I’m not?” Bucky whispers back, and his body repeats Steve’s secret back to him in kind, because they’ve always been the same. “I’ve been scared of lovin’ you my whole life. I’d stop it if I could.”

“Wouldn’t want you to.” Steve says, because he’s selfish. If they weren’t the way they are, he supposes they’d be happier; they’d have normal lives and families and they wouldn’t have to live with a big dark secret til they reach the grave. But he’s greedy, and he wants Bucky all for himself; he’s wanted it for so long, but he’s terrified of having it. Before, he didn’t have to think about it too hard: he loved Bucky sure as the sun would rise each morning, and it didn’t matter much because, well, he didn’t think he’d be around long enough to see it through. Some sickness would sweep him away, if some punk in a back alley didn’t take him out first, so it felt like all his time with Bucky was borrowed. One day, after he was gone, Buck would find a girl and get married and he’d be happy; in fact, Steve would be lucky not to see it happen, because it would hurt too much, and instead he could die believing that he was always Bucky's first choice. There’d be no blood, no sacrifice, because him and Bucky weren’t built to last - they couldn’t, and it was easier that way.

Except, as it turns out, Steve won’t die of a sickness, he won’t even die after a nose dive into the arctic, so he’s got to make plans. Buck would still find a gal cause that’s the charmer that he is, and with a new body it looks like Steve might even find someone, too. In fact, he’s already found her. They’d both get their squeaky clean, fairy tale endings after all. What he didn’t account for, among many things, was Bucky not being sweet on girls. All those times Steve ignored his future that he thought would never come, Bucky was staring down his own future, one where sweet hearts didn’t exist and you lived in fear and violation of the law. For him, loving Steve wasn’t some temporary thing, it was a life sentence, not a prison but a sanctuary.

Now the road is stretched out in front of them, and Steve hates that it took a war and the both of them coming back from icy graves to finally gather up his courage, to face up to who he really is. Sometimes, he feels like he’s not brave enough to love Bucky, despite the fact that he wants and wants and wants, completely and insatiably, and he knows he’ll never run away from it.

The thing is, deep down Bucky knows that he’s selfish too. He knows Steve’s not queer like him, he’s got a life jacket and her name is Peggy Carter; he hates her just a little, even though she’s the best damn thing that could’ve happened to Steve. She’s fearless and beautiful, strong-willed, intelligent - she’s a saint, and she’s going to save him. Bucky’s just jealous. He hates that he hates Steve for it too, since he can bail out anytime, but Bucky doesn't have a choice - he’s going to be left on this sinking ship. He would gladly drown if it meant Steve could be happy, all the while secretly hoping that Steve wouldn’t let go, that he’d let Bucky drag him down with him, let them both go under.

“You could be happy.” he insists, because as much as he wants Steve to stay, he’d never stop him from leaving. He’s giving him every chance.

“Not without you.” Steve assures him. The truth of it hits him all at once, and he realises that even if he could have a normal life, he wouldn’t have Bucky, and for all that’s worth he might as well still be in the ocean. “I’d choose you every time, Buck. It’s how I’m made.”

“Well then who ever made you is a fool.” Bucky says, but there’s no bite to it, not when he starts to choke on his words. He tucks his head under Steve nose to hide his wet eyes. “Did an absolutely piss poor job.”

“Yeah, guess so.” Steve agrees and runs his hands through Bucky’s hair. Bucky lays a kiss on his jaw and presses his face into his neck, lets Steve fuss over him and put his hands all over. He’s missed him so much.

“I don’t want you to leave me.” Bucky mutters wetly, after a moment.

“I don’t wanna be without you.” Steve answers, and it's criminal that Bucky ever thought he would. Twice in his life he's nearly lost him, and both times Steve survived by the skin of his teeth. He's not about to lose him again. He pulls him close, and they gather themselves up in each other’s arms. “You think we can do it?” he asks quietly. “Beat all the odds and be happy?”

He feels Bucky laugh. “Been beatin’ odds our whole lives, punk.”

Here they are, miracles, the two of them, men who cheated death everyday for two years, who dragged themselves kicking and screaming back into the world of the living, who refused to ever give up or walk away from the good fight. It's in their nature to keep going. 

Steve smiles, presses kisses to Bucky’s temple and buries his nose in his hair. He still smells like the rain, smells more like home than anything else ever could.

Tomorrow, there will be a lot to do, and a lot to answer for. Steve hopes everything will still be as crystal clear when morning comes, that the day light won’t reignite his doubt. But still: tomorrow, they will have to hide again, so for now he savours Bucky's flesh under his hands and holds on to him tight, his anchor, so that even in their sleep they won’t drift apart.

**Author's Note:**

> \- Peggy deserves better and i'm sorry  
> \- Nature Boy is a popular song by Nat King Cole from the 1940's  
> \- If you want a whole mood for this fic listen to some music from the 40's or anything by Years & Years


End file.
